


Fly Me to the Moon

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Epilogue, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: In which they get to Alpha Centauri after all.





	Fly Me to the Moon

They have to take the long way there. By then, Crowley had taught Aziraphale all about sleeping and a good thing too. Even at near light speed, it was still a very long way away. They snoozed at the end of corridor of humans lulled into stasis, swinging between great big gaps between the stars. 

They woke before everyone else. A year or so, nothing untoward. Their boxes were at the top of the luggage pile and it was no harm in breaking out the celebratory wine a little early. 

“I do miss Earth. Something very solid about dirt,” Aziraphale’s wine obediently traveled downward into the cup despite the lack of gravity. 

“Sure, if you don’t mind it being slightly irradiated,” Crowley’s sunglasses were the trendy new kind of lens that floated just in front of your eyes with nothing but clever magnets keeping them there. “Amazing how humans just keep on.” 

They were already out of fashion on Earth itself, of course. It had been some time between there and now.

“Life finds a way.” 

“I really regret introducing you to cinema. Nobody will understand that reference anymore.” 

“You do.” 

“Yes, well.” 

It wasn’t that Earth was dying. It might’ve been a little, in the way all living things did eventually, but that wasn’t why. It was just that they’d accidentally sort of gotten into the ‘saving the world’ business and it turned out the world just didn’t stop growing. The Earth and humanity would always be linked, but humanity had surged past the edges and flooded into space. The world was now a thriving metropolis on the moon (they’d visited after a century or two, Crowley hated the low level buzz of artificial light and Aziraphale had accidentally started a small international incident over a lever and a genetically modified pet beaver), a research facility the size of a small country on Mars, and a colony just setting up shop in their favorite binary star system. 

Specifically on an exoplanet that had buried it’s original scientific name for the dubious distinction of being nicknamed Tadfield. No one actually knew why, but the theories were entertaining. 

“What do think we’ll do when we get there? After the obvious.” 

“Dunno,” Crowley looked out over the mind boggling vastness of space with its infinite potential. “Probably what we always do. But with more glowing.” 

Tadfield (the planet, not the pleasant English town which probably doesn’t need clarification from this point forward) was a perfect Cinderella planet. It was set just far enough away from the closest sun to maintain a lovely temperate climate. Water occurred naturally on its surface and there was an oxygen rich atmosphere. The days were longer than on Earth and as such so were the nights. The native flora had gone happily ballistic in adaptation creating a rainbow of bio-luminescence that incoming settlers had taken to readily. 

Humans did so love their plumage. 

The first thing they saw (now nestled in the camouflage of two hundred other new settlers) as they grew close to the planet were the distant streets of the main settlement all alight in a dozen pulsing colors. It looked like a botanical garden had mated successfully with the 21st century Las Vegas Strip. 

“That’s something,” Crowley whispered almost directly into Aziraphale’s ear “Haven’t seen that since Atlantis.” 

“Not even then, they had all that dreadful gaudy pearl inlay in the way,” he watched wide eyed. “Creation never stops amazing.” 

“For better or worse." 

They docked and there were lines for nearly everything, the tangled bureaucracy of immigration ever at work. All the workers at the booth had incorporated glowing plants into their fashion. Crowley was already fast at work studying it and by the time they’d passed through the other side of the paperwork, his loose travel clothes had gone slick and tight, thin vines glowed red in pinstripe lines on jacket and trousers. His hair was long again, braided to one side, interwoven with a single strand of golden glow. 

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed. He looked around warily, found a posh looking young man and his jacket grew a foot and gained a great deal of golden embroidery. His hair refused to go too long, but it would curl a little over his ears in what he hoped might be flattering way. 

Crowley wasn’t looking at him, taking in the busy station and doubtless soaking in the general chaos of a travel point. Aziraphale licked a finger and dragged it down the left lapel of the jacket. The small red accent was not exactly his taste, he decided. But a statement was a statement. 

He nudged Crowley with his elbow, “I believe the exit is over there.” 

It was night and night in Tadfield was far superior to day. In the day, they would find the buildings were rather drab prefabricated slabs added onto haphazardly as the colony expanded. But at night they gleamed. They stopped first thing at a street vendor for Crowley to pick up something on a stick that tasted exactly like a fried Oreo, but was probably made of insects. They shared it as they strolled leisurely down the sidewalk toward their temporary residence. 

“Do you feel it?” Crowley asked, tossing the stick in the direction of the trash. It miraculously landed neatly inside.

“Feel what?” 

“You know...the stuff.” 

“You’re ridiculous, you know,” Aziraphale blocked out the general noise of so many people feeling their loud feelings. “It’s not like it was back then, but...yes. A little. Like background radiation.” 

“That makes you a Geiger counter, you realize.” 

“I’m not going to make clicking noises at you.” 

“Not even one?” 

Aziraphale clucked his tongue which sent Crowley into peals of laughter which inevitably made Aziraphale laugh too. 

“You know what I’m thinking?” Crowley said after a last good giggle. 

“Only in a general way and even then only some of the time.” 

“Fair, but what I was thinking was that we’ve reached as far as humans have gone. We’re always here. At the end of their world.” 

“My dear,” Aziraphale smiled at him, “how poetic.” 

“Don’t go repeating it.” 

Now most new colonists would probably spend a far few months in a small accommodation until they proved their skills and could make enough to move into something better. But a few who knew the people in the know, could head straight to the lone hotel and get a slightly nicer room with their own bathroom and a view. Aziraphale as it happened had made a friend who knew quite a few knows and liked first edition books. 

“It’s no Waldorf Astoria,” Crowley deemed when they reached the soft pink pulsating building on the edge of the city. It had six stories, making it easily the highest in the vicinity. 

“You couldn’t do better,” Aziraphale sniffed and walked into the lobby. 

“Welcome to Tadfield, new citizens,” a computer terminal chirped. “Your room is located on the fifth floor, third door on the left. It will open with facial recognition.” 

There was no one else around to see them fumble through figuring out the hover lift. After that, the door to their room sliding easily open was a relief. Their boxes were already there, piled neatly in one corner. Crowley passed through the simply appointed space and went right out to the balcony. Aziraphale meant to check on one or two things, but instead stopped in his tracks. 

Crowley leaned against the railing in one of his improbably angular poses. The light of the city drenched the space around him, rendering the lines of him in stark black in contrast. It was a freeze frame that Aziraphale could add to a box of photographs that existed only in the dusty shoebox under a bed in his mind. 

“Look at this!” Crowley called out. “They’ve got motorcycles! Haven’t seen one in ages.” 

There were motorcycles, dashing through the streets in metallic blurs. 

“No,” He said firmly. 

“But-” 

“No. If you must, at least get something enclosed. This poor body has made it this far, I’ll not be disincorporated so that you can look flashy.” 

“You wouldn’t have to ride it,” Crowley made the face that mean he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. 

“You always say that and then somehow, there I am. Eventually. Usually screaming.” 

Most of the time, Aziraphale didn’t see the charm in sleep, but even he felt a little worn out by the trip. They fell asleep with the balcony door open, listening to the timeless sound of a lot of people in small space living their busy mayfly lives. A day or so later, they were ready to take on the city. 

“So, go looking or let them find us?” Crowley rolled his head around his neck. The braid was on the wrong side to cover his markings. They were subtly greener in this different sun’s light. 

“Let’s find breakfast first.” 

A small open air restaurant was already in business for the day. They got a table in a good people watching spot. An androgynous waitperson with a wilted flower over one ear, handed them both hot towels. 

“You need to keep your hands clean,” they explained when they betrayed their newness. “The spores from some of the plants aren’t edible. Won’t kill you, but it’s not fun either.” 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale nodded, “and what is the traditional breakfast?” 

“We’re not old enough for traditions,” they shrugged. “But we do some good popberry scones.” 

“Tea?” he asked hopefully. 

“Not what you’ll be used to, but we all like it.” 

The steaming beverage was a defiant orange and smelled like cloves. It tasted like the first cup of tea they’d ever shared, thousands of years and miles away. 

“What are the odds of that?” Crowley dipped a finger into the brew then stuck it in his mouth. “Eve’s own.” 

“Incalculable...ineffable?” 

“Why not?” 

Pop berries were nearly blueberry like and burst delightfully when chewed. All in all a very good breakfast, a heartening start to the day. They walked down the main street, taking in the general atmosphere. 

“Look, my dear,” he pointed at a corner building, just two stories. 

“An empty storefront,” Crowley offered his arm and Aziraphale happily took it, heading towards the milky windows. 

A small sign at the front read, ‘If interested, ask Millie at the Petal Loaf’. The Petal Loaf turned out to be a bakery, so they let the storefront and got leafy sandwiches on fresh bread. 

“We may only be here a few years,” he protested very mildly. 

“You need a place to putter,” Crowley shrugged. “Let’s keep the room though. Better view.” 

Beyond the sprawl of buildings, there was plenty of agriculture at work. Farmers worked with Earth seeds and native crops. They walked along dirt lanes, occasionally passed by a motorcycle, or even an old fashioned bicycle. No cars to speak of or draft animals. Few animals at all. 

“S’the resource drain,” one farmer told them. She was genetically modified, strong enough to plow her own field without engine or beast. “They eat too much, don’t produce enough. There’s a few small type pets and things. Imported.” 

“What's growing off those trees?” Aziraphale almost toppled over the fence, saved by Crowley’s grip on his coattails. 

“Ever heard of a pomegranate?” She plucked one and handed it to him. “Hard to grow on Earth now, can’t stop the things here. Can't get anyone to take them for free let alone buy them.” 

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale held the fruit, cradling it to his chest. "I'll take this one and pay you for it." 

“Childhood favorite,” Crowley explained at the woman’s look. 

“Do you remember-” Aziraphale started when they were out of hearing range. 

“Mm. Suppose ‘apple’ was easier for Westerners to wrap their heads around,” long fingers plucked the fruit from his hands and cracked it open. They ate jeweled seeds all the way back to their hotel, fingers temporarily stained with their juice. 

By unspoken agreement, they didn’t really go looking. They filled their new shop with the deep boxes that had traveled with them. Books, of course, rarer now in their paper-y state. But there were also little paintings (oils that Crowley had dabbled with in the twenty-third century) , richly dyed yarns when a knitting shop in SoHo had closed with an unwanted bequest to the ‘nice man across the street who looks like he could use more cozy sweaters’, and a few other tchotchkes that were less for sale, more for their own enjoyment in the shared space. 

They did go for long walks when they didn’t feel like opening the store. They went in all directions, a lazy fan of seeking. Neighbors became acquainted, certain restaurants became favorites with servers that greeted them by name, and customers would show up to buy things no matter what one did. 

Without setting out to do so, they built a network and networks were good at information delivery. 

“Oh yes, there’s that odd group at the edge of the westside,” one server nodded vaguely. “They keep themselves to themselves.” 

“You know, I came here on the second ship and they were already here,” Millie wrapped up their morning bread, still warm. “First ship was just survey team, so I guess they went rogue from that since the rest of them went back after.” 

“They’ve got a dog,” the little boy that washed their windows despite Crowley’s vigorous protests confided one late afternoon. “I’ve never seen a dog!” 

“Is that so?” Aziraphale glanced meaningfully at Crowley, who was doing something filthy to their cash register to keep it breeding coins. 

“Stop winking at me,” Crowley grumbled. “It makes you look twitchy.” 

Armed with a basket of goodies and hope, they walked in a direction they had taken before. This time they zigged instead of zagged and stopped to ask for directions twice. 

The town wasn’t exactly far from the house, just far enough to be Other. It had certainly already been more organically blended into the landscape. It was getting on evening when they approached it and rather than a single color, the house was swathed in dozen without any attempt to direct them. There was no road leading up to it, just a foot beaten dirt path that stopped at a white wooden gate in a white wooden fence. 

On the inside of a fence as a single rose bush, laden heavy with red blooms. An elegant woman with a cloud of curls walked out to meet them. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you two out here,” she brushed her hands together, then stuck them firmly to her hips. “You’re not bringing trouble.” 

“No, Pepper,” Crowley took off his sunglasses. “Just to ask an entirely harmless favor.” 

“Mostly harmless,” amended Aziraphale. Crowley glanced at him. “Nothing is entirely harmless.” 

“Origami.” 

“Papercuts.” 

“Stamp collecting.” 

“Cutthroat trading market.” 

“Tea-” 

“Thanks, no thanks on the celestial bantering hour,” though maybe despite herself, Pepper looked slightly amused. “Come on, he’s out back.” 

They followed her around the back of the house. A white and black blur ran up to them barking. Dog was just starting to look a little grey around the muzzle, frantically jumping around them until Crowley gave him a surreptitious scratch behind the ears. 

“Where’s your master then?” 

Dog turned a circle and headed the way Pepper had gone. An herb garden was snuggled up to the house, rife with familiar leaves. Beyond that was an orchard thick with heavy fruit. Dog weaved among the trees and then out into a clear meadowy space beyond it. 

Adam stood in the tall grass. His curls had only grown wilder, cascading down shoulders. The child’s face could still be found in the features of the man’s. Of all the people Aziraphale had known, he looked the most like King Arthur. Royal, but tired with it. He had eyes that had seen many things and hadn’t enjoyed all of them. But he smiled genuinely when he saw them. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he raced up to them much like Dog had and embraced them with wide arms. “Do you want some dinner?” 

The Antichrist’s kitchen table was big enough for a nearly immortal woman, an angel, a demon, and a handful of other people. They seemed to be disciples of a kind though they gave Adam no special attention as they passed around food and drink. 

“It just feels like home,” one man blinked when Aziraphale asked him. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.” 

“Always a few of those,” Pepper shrugged. “Magnetic personality, yada yada. Personally, I like a break every decade or so, go on a wander. You’re lucky you caught me, I just got back.” 

“She’s been exploring,” Adam crushed a popberry between his teeth. “First rate astronaut, our Pepper.” 

“No one bothers you in space,” she agreed. 

“Why’d you come out here?” Crowley leaned in, studying Adam. “Thought you were all shored up.” 

“The others were ready to go,” the shrug wasn’t as careless at it might’ve been. “They were tired of out living everyone. My parents were gone for ages. I figured that I could keep on pretending that nothing would ever change or make the changes myself.” 

“I told him that,” Pepper put in. “and I was right.” 

“She was right,” he said wryly. “So I went exploring too. But I like being in one place as it turns out. I like a home.” 

“It’s a nice one. Very lovely architecture.” 

“Guess you watched the colony grow up?” Crowley pointed a carrot stick at him. “Or are you watering it?” 

“Isolation is overrated,” Adam radiated wise serenity. Crowley snorted. 

“Why are you here again?” she leaned in, hand resting on a fork. 

“A favor,” Aziraphale started. “Um, it’s just that- well-” 

“We don’t strictly speaking have family and if we did they would hate us and we would hate them,” Crowley jumped in. “But it seemed weird just doing it the two of us when the two of us already know.” 

“Witnesses are traditional,” Aziprhale picked up. “And we thought it’d be nice to have someone that knew us and maybe cared, a little. To be there. Maybe to do the actual words since a church-” 

“Out of the question. And some angels apparently don’t go in for beach weddings.” 

“Nothing against beach weddings. Just..sand. I’ve had enough of sand-” 

“You want to get married?” Pepper’s hand fell away from the fork. “Why?” 

“Why does anyone?” Aziraphale asked. “We’ve loved each other a long time, plan to continue doing so for the conceivable future.” 

“Until the heat death of the universe. Putting it in my vows.” 

“You want me to marry you,” Adam said slowly. 

“It’s a little unorthodox-” 

“We’re unorthodox,” Crowley reminded him. “Very definition of at this point.” 

“You want me to marry you?” The wise oldness drifted away again and instead, Adam was just a child laughing giddily. “Really?” 

“Really,” they chorused. 

“All right, when?” 

It turned out the Antichrist was also an excellent wedding planner. He’d attended many in the last few hundred years and had some ideas. The rose bush agreeably made itself into an arch, the orchard yielded dozens of different fruits and the disciples started baking. In a matter of days, there was a feast, flowers, and invitations. Not a lot of the last, just a few people from the colony, and out of spite, one for Above and Below. 

No celestial or formally celestial beings made an appearance. The silence had an air of pouting to it that they roundly ignored. 

The night before, Pepper commandeered Crowley and Adam took Aziraphale. The former went to bawdy theater show and drank a lot. The latter went to the same bawdy show, got better seats, and drank significantly more. The lead actor started off shaky, but discovered new found depths at intermission and the bawdy show very slowly turned into Hamlet. Everyone was confused, but grateful by this turn of events. 

No one had a headache when the sun came up. Everything was perfect. The roses were still at the height of bloom, standing at fluttery attention as Aziraphale smoothed the crease in his trousers. 

“Vanity is meant to be a sin,” Pepper commented as he minutely adjusted his hair. 

“Traditionally,” he agreed. “But we’ve come up with our own set recently. Less on the ‘don’t enjoy things’ and more in the ‘try not to make things worse’ category.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Good days and bad.” 

Pepper pinned a pink rose to his lapel besides the red frond. 

There were no musicians, but the music was sweet and string heavy anyway. It seemed to be coming from the plants themselves. The few guests sat in chairs clustered near the archway. Adam stood beneath it, a single sheet of paper in one hand. 

Crowley met him at the beginning of the aisle. He had tucked his sunglasses away and their eyes met. 

“Hello, my dear.” 

“Hello, angel.” 

They walked down holding hands and came to a stop together before Adam. 

“We gather together today,” Adam began and he needed to amplification to be Heard. Aziraphale suspects he’ll be Heard Above and Below at this rate, even if they hadn’t had the manners to RSVP, “to witness the joining of two beings in human matrimony. They’ve prepared their own vows. Aziraphale, you first.” 

“Oh, oh,” he reached out and took Crowley’s other hand and took a deep breath. He looked into the beloved sharp face with clever eyes. “I read a lot of books trying to come up with something profound, but in the end it seemed wrong to borrow words to tell you how much I love you.

“I love you for faults and virtues, for your selfish selflessness, and the kindnesses you lavish on people when you think you can get away with it,” he took a deep breath, “I promise to love you until the End and beyond that if we can manage it. I promise to always see you as you are, and try to keep up even if you’re going a little too fast.” 

There was a long silent moment when Aziraphale was certain he’d put his foot in it somehow, but Crowley just exhaled raggedly and squeezed his hands a little. 

“I’m a covetous old snake at heart,” he shifted his weight, the slight hint of nerves, “and I want you to be mine. Until there’s no more having to be had. I love you like we were supposed to love things once upon a time. Without reason or sense or end. I promise to keep you comfortable and happy as I can. I promise and it’s only because it’s you that my promises mean a thing.” 

Aziraphale sniffled. 

“No,” Crowley groaned. “Don’t.” 

“It was just very beautiful, my dear.” 

Adam clapped his hands and they turned to face him. 

“Do you Crowley, take this being to be your spouse until the heat death of the universe?” 

“I do,” the grip on Aziraphale’s hands tightened again. 

“Do you Aziraphale, take this being as your spouse until the end of time?” 

“I do.” 

“Then by the power vested in me by the Universe in general and the Tadfield Central Government in particular, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

It was a little strange to do it in front of other people, Aziraphale realized. He hadn’t thought of that somehow. To his immense relief, Crowley manifested his wings and wrapped them around them both. They kissed as they had a thousand times before by now, intent and complete. Crowley liked to slide an arm around Azirphale’s waist and Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley’s shoulder blades, the better to bring him in closer. 

There was applause when they stopped, a brief dense rain of flower petals, and the music picked up in tempo. 

“Smile!” Pepper ordered and they turned to her obligingly. 

Apparently they hadn’t fully pulled themselves together because their wedding photo caught just the suggestion of a wing folding around Aziraphale’s back. The photo was hung in a place of pride behind the counter of the shop, the only physical capture of the two of them in existence. 

“We should dance.” 

“I don’t...” 

“Come on, angel. Just one for me. Everyone can sway, even you.” 

“I suppose-” 

He was taken up before he could finish the thought. The music was non-specifically festive. The dance floor was a square of trodden down dirt and the other attendees were wandering around the grounds, apparently happy to ignore them. With a soft sigh, Aziraphale relaxed into Crowley’s steel grip and allowed himself to be lead in a shuffle and sway. 

“Was it worth it?” his hand described a small circle over the small of Crowley’s back. “The journey?” 

“S’always been,” Crowley smiled indulgently at him. 

“I suppose it has.” 

The background radiation of Adam’s love was most intense here on his own ground. It saturated into Aziraphale’s mind and left him a little more boneless and susceptible on top of his deep contentment. After only a brief squabble, he let Crowley painstakingly teach him now to waltz. 

“Perfectly respectable dance these days. Downright dusty.” 

“Too bad,” the angel laughed. “I remember when it was scandalous.”

The music obligingly shifting to something appropriate as Crowley counted steps. 

_Fly me to the moon_  
Let me play among the stars  
Let me see what spring is like  
On Jupiter and Mars  
In other words, hold my hand  
In other words, baby, kiss me  


Without even the precautionary shield of wings, Aziraphale obliged. It was just rude to ignore a direct request. If their spin took them further and further away from their own party and closer to the room at the hotel that was just fine with them. Adam waved as they went by and no one else paid them any mind. 

The room had always had just one bed. Time had carried them along after all and they were well versed in each other’s constructed flesh. But it felt ever so slightly different this time. Maybe it was just the way Crowley said, 

“My angel,” which was a small difference really. Just a tiny word in one of the many thousands of languages that had been born, spoken, and died on their tongues. 

For a honeymoon, they took a row boat down the river that ran to the city’s north side. It carried them past town and farms and into the wilds of nature. They lay side by side on the bottom, passing a bottle of wine between them that never emptied. 

“Do you want to go back now?” 

“Back where?” Crowley propped himself up on his elbow regarding him. 

“England...Earth, the general solar system,” he reached up to trace the lines of the snake, watching it twitch beneath his caress. “Home.” 

“We’re home right here. Or the shop, or the Horsehead Nebula.” 

“If I had known how romantic a wedding would make you...” 

“Shut it,” Crowley laughed, leaning into his touch. “I mean it though. If you want to go we can.” 

“No,” he said with some small relief. “I like it here. For now.” 

So they drifted back to the town and opened the shop back up. They went on as they had except that sometimes while Aziraphale was reluctantly adding up the till, Crowley would drape himself over his back and mutter something in his ear. A temptation to distraction of many varieties. Each Aziraphale would accept by turning in his arms and pressing his face into Crowley’s neck where the skin was surprisingly soft. 

They made their own sins and virtues, their own marriage. Right there, caught between two stars, each with their own inexorable gravity cancelling each other out. They would eat, drink, and be merry together for many long centuries to come. 

And if Aziraphale bought Crowley a motorcycle for their anniversary one year and strapped on a helmet...well. That was marriage wasn't it? Compromise and flying through streets too fast, clinging to each other, and laughing.


End file.
